


ice cream soup

by fadewords



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aromantic Jonathan Sims, Autistic Jonathan Sims, Fluff, Gen, Ice Cream, an au where jon.. is aro......., anyways have 3k of nonsense fluff, aro jon au, casual thoughts of self harm ig?, completely nonseriously meant but here's a warning regardless, jon is embarrassing & doesn't know he's aro & i love him, lol i forgot that one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadewords/pseuds/fadewords
Summary: “Just to be clear,” Jon says, catching Georgie’s eye and resisting the urge to do anything stupid like look away or wring his hands or tug on his shirt collar, “this isn’t a date, is it?”
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims
Comments: 28
Kudos: 268





	ice cream soup

**Author's Note:**

> i am a simple person. i enter a fandom. i see a character i like. i IMMEDIATELY claim them for my own & begin producing unholy amnts of platonic content,,,

“Just to be clear,” Jon says, catching Georgie’s eye and resisting the urge to do anything stupid like look away or wring his hands or tug on his shirt collar, “this isn’t a date, is it?”

Georgie blinks owlishly at him over the top of her coffee, then laughs. “No? It’s a _cram night_.” She gestures with her free hand to the books and papers spread on the table between them, and then, for some inexplicable reason, up at the flickering fluorescents above. “What part of—” Then she raises a brow, eyes alight with mischief. “Why? Did you want it to be?”

“ _No_ ,” Jon says immediately. And probably rather too harshly, if the second eyebrow now raising to join the first is any indication, which Jon rather thinks it must be. “That is, um—well, you’re uh, rather lovely but I—no? No.” Jon resists the urge to run his hands through his hair. That’s a weird thing to do right now, will only make him seem in—in—unconscionably? No, _disproportionately_ nervous, which may make it seem as though he’s interested _after_ all, and he doesn’t want that, and—

“Gee,” Georgie says, still with that look in her eyes. “Thanks. _Rather_ lovely, he says. Sure know how to flatter a girl, Sims.”

Jon is about ninety percent sure she’s joking. He hasn’t known her terribly long, just a few months, but she wears this face often enough that he’s _pretty sure_ it’s her joking one and she’s not _actually_ annoyed with him. Really pretty sure. So he rolls his eyes and says, “Shut up.”

Georgie laughs.

“ _Shut up_.” He’s glad she’s not upset with him, but it’s. They _are_ in a library, and they’re not _alone_ by any means, and she’s going to attract attention and the only thing worse than embarrassing himself in front a semi-new acquaintance is embarrassing himself in front of a semi-new acquaintance _and also an audience_.

Georgie grins, and he glares at her, glancing pointedly round at the neighboring tables.

“Relax, Jon. They don’t care, they’re busy.”

Jon’s shoulders wind thirty-two percent tighter. “Yes, well. We should be too.” He pulls his notebook closer to himself pointedly. He’ll just. Pretend it never happened. Georgie seems kind. Maybe she’ll let him.

“We should,” she agrees.

Jon’s shoulders unwind about twelve percent. See? he tells himself. She’s going to let him. “Yes.” He opens the cover, tries not to look too relieved.

“But first.”

Oh no.

“Explain what exactly made you think this might be a date?”

Oh god.

“Just so I can be sure I never do... _whatever_ it was again.”

Jon wonders if perhaps it’s _his_ turn to play offended. He’s gearing up to try when it occurs to him that doing so might perhaps be construed as flirting. Which is the opposite of what he wants. He thinks. Probably.

“I’m waiting.”

Jon’s hands tighten on the notebook. “It’s nothing. Wasn’t anything. Just I, uh. I….” He searches for a way to say it that doesn’t make him sound like a total moron. “...I find it rarely hurts to be direct about this sort of thing. Clear up ambiguities before they can arise. They, they can be rather unfortunate.”

“Jonathan Sims,” Georgie says. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“...No.” He picks up his pen, uncaps it, and begins circling a particularly scribbly section of his notes.

“Okay, two things.”

Jon ignores her and begins drawing arrows between the circled bit and a few of the notes in the margins.

“One, you’re killing me. _How_ can you even read that, please just use a highlighter. Here. Take mine.” Georgie shoves her pencil case at him.

He scowls, but dutifully unzips it to find no fewer than _five_ different colors of highlighter, each a different flavor of awful. He settles on the pink, because it hurts his eyes least.

“ _Two_ ,” Georgie continues, taking her pencil case back. “I smell a story. Spill.”

“There isn’t one,” Jon lies, highlighting the places he just marked.

“Bull.”

“And even if there was,” he continues. “You’ve got an exam in less than twelve hours, and I’ve got one in less than ten. I thought we agreed—”

Georgie sighs. “No distractions, yeah.” She pulls her textbook closer to herself. “Fine.”

“Good.” Jon devotes his full attention to the mess of arrows that make _perfect sense, actually_. The highlighter is unnecessary. But if it makes Georgie shut up….

“But—” She presses her hands flat to the pages. “—when we ace them, you’re telling me everything.”

“ _If_ we ace them,” Jon mutters, only half-listening. (In 1391….)

“I’m holding you to that.”

“Yes, yes, fine.” Jon is no longer listening at all. (That was _after_ the...the….? _Oh_.) “Pass me the sticky notes?”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

And so the rest of the night passes in a flurry of paper and scribbling and impromptu quizzes, and Jon’s embarrassment is thoroughly forgotten in the dubious mix of caffeine and stress and quiet camaraderie.

-

Jon manages a ninety-two percent and Georgie a ninety-five, and Jon is only a _little_ envious of that three-percent difference.

Georgie doesn’t believe him—apparently he made some kind of _face_ when she told him her score—but she doesn’t seem angry, just amused, and lets it drop with little more than a laugh, a headshake, and a “Better luck next time, Sims.”

Jon is very annoyed and very grateful, and quickly shoves both out of mind, narrowing his world down to the ten pound note in his pocket, the quickest route to the grocery store, and the very best ice cream flavors.

Infuriating nonsense aside, they’ve got some celebrating to to.

-

They buy a small carton of mocha chip and a smaller pack of paper bowls and head back to Jon’s dingy little dorm to celebrate, both of them sat on the floor.

“So,” Georgie says, stabbing her ice cream with a fork because Jon’s a disaster who hasn’t washed his spoons in a week and she’s a disaster who can’t be arsed to wait a minute for him to get round to them.

“Hm?” Jon barely looks up from his own bowl. He’s got a spoon, because what he lacks in consistent work ethic he makes up for by possessing an actual modicum of patience. And also not being an _absolute animal_.

“You promised me a story, Sims, if-slash-when we aced our exams.”

…Ah.

He meets her eyes with a shrug-and-half-smile. “Well—we haven’t taken all of them yet. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Wouldn’t want to, er…” Jon resolutely does not look down at his ice cream. “Celebrate prematurely.”

“Mhm.” Georgie takes an ostentatious bite. “Totally agree,” she mumbles, mouth full. “Now spill.”

“...You’re not going to let it go, are you.”

“You’re the one who made a show of being all _evasive_. Your own fault.”

Jon wants very much to beg to differ, but, irritatingly, she _isn’t_ wrong, and digging his heels in further is only going to make her more curious, leading to more of the same in an endlessly increasing loop that won’t stop until he _tells_ her. So he might as well just get it over with.

He sighs. “Fine.”

Georgie sits up straighter.

Jon pretends not to notice and takes another bite of ice cream. Definitely because he’s trying to find the right words. Definitely not because he’s stalling.

“Well?”

“...Promise not to laugh,” he says finally.

“I promise.”

Jon glares at her. “I mean it. If you do I’m—I’m microwaving the rest of the ice cream.”

Georgie makes a mock-horrified face, heavy on the mockery, as though they haven’t _just_ agreed (not ten minutes past) that microwaved ice cream is an affront to God and humanity and all that is good in the world. “Scout’s honor,” she says. “...So?”

“ _So_ ,” Jon says, and takes another bite because definitely-not-stalling hasn’t actually helped him find the right words at all. “You’re...not the first person to invite me to revise with them.”

“Really,” Georgie says. “What a shock.”

“Shut up.” Jon jams more ice cream in his mouth rather than explain that it _was_ , actually, and he’d been both rather touched and incredibly nervous about it and subsequently very nearly said _no_ on impulse (and now of course dearly wishes he’d actually done so). “ _Anyway_. I said yes, we studied, and as I’m _sure_ you can surmise based on _context_ , I later learned it was a date. End of story.”

“Pretty short story.” Georgie tilts her head to the side. “...How _much_ later?”

Oh hell. “Does it matter?”

“It absolutely does.”

Fuck. “Fine. Two days.” Jon is lying through his teeth.

“Hm.” To her credit, Georgie doesn’t laugh. Unfortunately, she does tilt her head just a little further in a way that makes him want to dive out the very small window. Even more unfortunately, she’s sat in between him and said window.

Jon squirms. Then breaks. “...Fine, okay, weeks. Three.” _And_ two days. But he’s not telling her that part. She doesn’t need to know if he’s rounding down. It’s not important. It’s fine. It’s. Yes.

Georgie still doesn’t laugh, but she _does_ raise her eyebrows much higher than necessary. “Oh?”

“Mm.” Jon turns back to his ice cream. It’s going a bit melty round the edges. Unacceptable.

“And how did you manage that?”

“Would you believe me if I said it went so badly we just...didn’t talk for three weeks?” Jon asks with an awkward grin that feels like it’s probably more of a grimace. He braces himself for Georgie to squint and say _no_ and keep prying the story out of him bit-by-bit.

She nods, facing clearing. “Ah. Yes.”

...Wait. What? “ _Seriously_?”

“I mean. Not to be rude, but.” She gestures at Jon’s everything. “Yeah.” She frowns. “I take it that’s _not_ what happened, though?”

“ _No_.” Jon scowls. “It went very _well_ , actually. So well we had three more... _dates_ before….” He gestures vaguely.

Georgie stares at him like he’s grown another seven sets of eyes. “Three?”

“That’s what I _said_.”

“Right. Just, uh—how? One study date, sure, I get that. Two, maybe, you’re oblivious enough. But _four_ dates, Jon? Even _you_ —”

“Yes, all right, _thank_ you.” He jabs at his ice cream. “It’s—we were just _revising_. And then we were just grabbing a coffee. And then revising again. And then grabbing lunch at hers. I just thought—” He gestures vaguely. “I thought we were starting to be friends?” He gestures again, sharper but no less vague. “It’s, it’s not as though we went to _dinner_ or a _film_ or anything, she never called me her _boyfriend_ , we never _held hands_ —”

“Three weeks and four dates and you never even held hands?”

“We—we linked arms sometimes?” Jon says, flustered. “But. But no, we never _held hands_. Would’ve been a bit of a tip-off if we had.” _I’m not completely stupid_ , he wants to add, but there’s no sense giving her that opening.

“Right. And I suppose you never kissed either, then?”

Jon studies his ice cream again. “She. Well. Apparently she tried once? I, uh. Didn’t notice. Rather than try again more obviously, or, or _ask_ me, she assumed I wanted to take things slow. So she left it alone, until she thought _I_ was moving to kiss _her_ , and then—” He shrugs, jams melty ice cream in his mouth. Georgie can fill in the blanks.

“And then you _finally_ put two and two together.”

“More or less.” What _actually_ happened was Jon moved away before they could _actually_ kiss and gave her an extremely bewildered expression, at which point _Alex_ began to put two and two together, actually, prompting a conversation which made Jon at first very befuddled, and then very embarrassed, and then, hours later, when the wanting-to-die wore off, _very_ angry. But, again, Georgie doesn’t need to know all the details.

“That’s….”

“Shut up, I _know_.” A pause. “The weird thing, though,” Jon says, frowning. “Well. Weirdest. Is that she actually—she didn’t seem to mind much? She thought it was _funny_.”

“I _mean_ —” Georgie begins.

“Shut up. You made a promise, I _have a microwave_.”

Georgie holds up her hands in a dramatically pacifying gesture. “Right, right, sorry, of course, continue.”

Jon eyes her suspiciously. Then _does_ continue, because, well—he’s told this much, and Georgie hasn’t _actually_ laughed so far, and he hasn’t really ever had the opportunity to actually complain about this before, and now he’s begun he’s sort of warming to the theme, because _really_ , the whole thing was—so _bizarre_ and so _stupid_. “I was _saying_. She just...sort of laughed it off, called us both a bit oblivious.” Made a bit of a joke Jon won’t repeat about good matches.

“Understatement.”

“Mm.” Jon scowls and tackles his mocha chip again in an ineffectual effort to stave off the melting. “And then,” he says after a couple terrible spoonfuls, before Georgie can urge him to continue, “then she asked if, now that we were both on the same page, we could—” He gestures with his spoon, somewhere between incredulous and outraged. “— _try it again_.”

“Once more with feeling?” Georgie says, straight-faced.

Jon drops his spoon and throws a pillow at her. It misses, she cackles, and Jon briefly contemplates murder. Then thinks better of it.

“I swear to god,” he begins. “I will open that freezer and—”

“Wasn’t about your story!” Georgie protests, still half-laughing. “Just the look on your face. That’s—that’s _different_.”

Jon squints at her for a very long moment. “...Fine.”

She composes herself, though the corners of her mouth still quiver. “You were saying?”

Jon glares. “She asked if we could try it _again_.” He pauses. “Specifically, starting with the kiss.”

“...And?”

“And I told her that I didn’t know, but I supposed I probably wouldn’t mind?”

“Ooh.” Georgie winces. “Bet that went over well.”

Jon shrugs. “She didn’t shout or anything? Just sat back and said she supposed we’d—” He affects her tone. “— _probably better not, then_.” He still isn’t _quite_ sure why, if he’s honest with himself. It’s not as though he rejected her. He gave her a truthful answer which included more or less _permission to try_ , actually, which is sort of ideal, as responses go. Or, well, obviously not, based on her response and now Georgie’s, but really. What more could she have wanted? A please and thank you? (...Actually. Now he’s thinking about it, maybe those might not have hurt. Not for politeness reasons, but. Enthusiasm ones? Was that the issue? He can see how perhaps that—)

Georgie’s voice breaks through his train of thought with all the grace of Jon on icy ground after an all-nighter and five skipped meals in a row. “And then left, I assume.”

“Huh? Oh, uh. After a bit, yes.”

“And you started avoiding each other.”

Jon half-laughs. “No, we met up a few more times after that. About as awkward as you’d expect. And _then_ we started avoiding each other.” A pause, as he resists the urge to smack the offending memories out of his skull. “I still see her round sometimes. Just sort of. Pretend she’s not there.”

“As one does.”

“As one does,” he agrees humorlessly. “And there you have it. That’s—why I asked. Back in the library.”

“I see.”

“I just, uh—had to be sure.”

Georgie nods. Her eyes are almost pitying. It’s absolutely revolting.

Jon soldiers on with a half-strangled smile. He’s going to make this a joke if it _kills_ him. (Better she laughs than look at him like _that_.) “After all, it would—well, it would be a shame to have to, uh, start pretending _you_ don’t exist.” He grins. “I...rather enjoy your company?” He drops the grin and contemplates sticking _himself_ in the microwave. Disgustingly forthright, obnoxiously formal, and not _nearly_ as amusing as it was in his head.

“Mm. How romantic.”

Jon knows, of course, that this is only more of that dry Barker humor at work, just Georgie picking up his slack, making the joke _for_ him, and she doesn’t really mean it. He knows. But even still, dread rises up the back of his neck and embarrassment begins to burn his face from the inside out. “Uh,” he says.

Georgie laughs. “Re _lax._ I promise,” she says, still with laughter on the edges of her voice, “if I ever ask you out, I’ll make it _very_ clear. I’ll say, _Jonathan Sims. Would you like to go on a date with me? I am speaking in a romantic sense, because I am romantically interested in you and want to see if we’re compatible. Romantically._ ”

Jon throws his only other pillow at her. She dodges with ease.

“Hm,” she says, tapping a finger to her chin mock-thoughtfully. “Actually, no. I’m not sure that’s quite clear enough. You’re _very_ dense.”

“Georgie,” he warns, searching for something else to throw and finding only a very heavy history textbook and a bowl of almost-entirely-melted ice cream.

“How about this. Right here, right now, a code. On top of the rest, I will say, uh….” She glances about. Her eyes land on the bowl in his half-raised hand, and she grins wide enough he’s half-surprised her face doesn’t split. “I’ll swear on ice cream soup.”

“You’ll swear on an affront to humankind?” Jon wonders if perhaps he should be insulted. “That seems rather antithetical to the mood.”

“Yep!” She sounds far too chipper. He should _definitely_ feel insulted.

“...Okay. Fine.” Jon doesn’t point out that the mixed signals involved sort of defeat the entire purpose of the code in the first place, because it doesn’t matter, because that’s the _point_ , it’s a _joke_. Georgie’s messing with him, and he’s not about to let her win. “Whatever. Now _please_ can we put this back in that godawful excuse for a freezer and get something to eat.”

“Hmmmm.” Georgie pretends to think about it and Jon resists the urge to throw the history textbook at her after all. It can’t hurt too badly—probably fall apart before it actually hits her, damn thing’s so old—but it still cost a fortune, so he doesn’t. Also, he supposes, it’d be rude. So there’s that. “Yeah, alright. Hungarian, you think?”

“I’d prefer something else, if it’s all the same.”

“Aw, why?”

“Because Hungarian’s _terrible_.”

“No, you just have awful taste buds.”

“Be that as it may,” Jon says, scowling. “Host has veto power. Pick something else.”

“Mmmm _fine_ ,” Georgie says, but she rolls her eyes in a way that says (he thinks) she’s not actually as disappointed or angry as she seems. “What about pizza then. Surely even _you_ can’t complain about pizza.”

Jon can, in fact, complain about several types of pizza. “What kind?”

“I dunno, vegetarian?”

“...Fine.” He’ll pick the olives off. Possibly when she’s not looking.

“Great! I’ll pay.”

“No, you already bought the ice cream. _I’m_ paying.”

“Yeah, and then yours melted while I made you tell probably the second-most embarrassing story you have. Think we’re square on that one.”

“What makes you think it’s not _the_ most embarrassing?” Jon asks suspiciously.

“You never would’ve told me if it was.”

“...Touché,” he says. “All right. Fine, you’re paying. I’m going to go see if I can get this to freeze into something _vaguely_ _edible_.”

Georgie pulls out her phone. “Good luck.

“Mm.” He won’t have any. Even if the tiny freezer compartment cooperates, re-frozen ice cream is inherently terrible. Sure, it _tastes_ fine, but it’s all grainy and the extra ice crystals are just...bad. But he doesn’t want to _waste_ , and there’s appearances to keep up, and Georgie may be willing to eat it later, so….

Jon sets off to make the effort.

**Author's Note:**

> had to strangle the english major gremlin that lives in my brain when i finished writing this bc it wouldn't shut up abt ice cream lmao
> 
> anyway canon biro disaster jon is a Delight & i'm eternally grateful for him but i DO have a soft spot for the aro trashcan version who lives in my heart, and so [waves hand] this
> 
> as ever y'all can find me on tumblr at arodrwho


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